


Regular Weekend

by natproms1 (littlethanktosomeoneachday)



Category: TPMP, Touche Pas A Mon Poste ! RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, L'Oeuf ou la Poule, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4526391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlethanktosomeoneachday/pseuds/natproms1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyril keeps on texting him throughout the whole day but he's so busy he doesn't even have a minute to himself. When he finally does, it's past 10pm and they're dragging him to a bar to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regular Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> written between last night and this morning. Set the night before the filming of L'Oeuf ou la Poule with Camille. I'm not mentionning it in it but I think he did have the radio in the morning, and did finish his day at around 10pm (that I mention), so it was indeed a looong day. Anyway, I hope you like :)

"Oh fuck! Sweet loving fuck! " He kisses Cyril's shoulder before laying back down next to him.  
   
"Yeah, pretty much." Cyril turns his face to him, smiling.  
   
Camille tired him out like never before. Riding him to the edge but making him come down with soft caresses and slow kisses to ride hin fast and hard again. He doesn't even know how many times but definitely many. He can't feel anything anymore.  
   
"Stress makes you intense." He chuckles, disposing of the condom and handing tissues to Camille.  
"Oh shut up!" Camille exclaims, patting his shoulder, his face beaming. Still on a high.  
   
He finishes cleaning himself up and throws everything away before rolling on his side, covering his body halfway, still a bit hot from all the... exercise.  
   
"You're gonna be great." Cyril softly says as he scoots closer to Camille, spooning him. He kisses Camille's shoulder before nestling his face against his neck, taking a deep breathe. Camille smells like sex and sweat but they're both too tired to take a shower. And he likes the scent, the manly musky scent anyway. They'll have fun together in the morning under the shower spray.  
   
***  
   
Cyril keeps on texting him throughout the whole day but he's so busy he doesn't even have a minute to himself. When he finally does, it's past 10pm and they're dragging him to a bar to celebrate. He doesn't have the strength for anything, and definitely not for saying no to a good beer.  
   
All his muscles are tensed from the stress, his legs are killing him and he's so drained he feels like he could cry any minute, for the stupidest reason.  
   
He just nods along to their jokes and discussions, not processing anything they say.  
   
"Hey, Camille!" A hand is waving in front of his face. "Camille!" He tries to focus on the hand but it is moving too fast. "Cyril's been trying to ring you!" He looks up to the person talking. Dorian? He hums and nods but it doesn't make him go away.  
   
"Cyril? Your boss? He's calling you?" He only hears Cyril's name but it doesn't register. He's looking at the phone like he's seeing through it.  
   
Hands on his own, prying his fingers from the empty beer, something else is put in them. A phone. He looks down at it and Cyril's face is on it.  
"You need to take the call." Dorian insists as he tries to get Camille to react. When nothing happen, he taps the phone, taking the call before Cyril dies on the other hand of the line.  
"Camille?"  
"Mh"  
"Camille, are you okay?! You sound weird!" Cyril's worried voice snaps him out of it and he quickly reassures him. Slurring a few words and giving up on others but Cyril must have understood because he's laughing and telling him he loves him. He says it back and hangs up.  
Everyone is looking at him with funny faces but he is officially exhausted and doesn't care. He only registers now what his brain heard : Cyril is coming to get him. He says that and bids his goodbyes.  
A phone rings, Dorian's, who quickly checks it. A text from Cyril.  
"Where are you? Is Camille still there?" Camille forgot to tell Cyril a few little things like giving him the address. He smiles and texts back the answers.  
Camille shrugs his shoulders, the cold air waking him up a bit. He looks around in the street. Not so empty but not so busy. People minding their business, taxis coming and leaving. He plays back through the events of the day and smiles. Good day, long and stressful but good. Just when he's about to play the events of the night before, already smiling at the thoughts, a car stops right in front of him. The driver window rolls down and Cyril's face shows up. "Hey. You want a ride?" He growls with a smile, tapping his fingers on his car door.  
Camille watches him a moment longer before realizing what's expected of him and walks around the car. Cyril opens the passenger door for him from inside and he slides in.  
He doesn't remember the car ride, but he's suddenly pushed into an elevator. He sees himself in the mirror and he is truly horrified by the sight of him.  
His shirt is untucked, his hair is all over the place and the bags under his eyes, they reach down to his knees.  
Cyril's hand on the small of his back leads him out to their flat, and in to their bedroom. He lets him take his clothes off, stripping him to his boxers before being tucked into their bed.  
He falls asleep before he can even feel the bed dip with Cyril's weight.  
   
   
***  
   
   
He's staring into the blackness of his coffee, slowly stirring it. Last night events come back to him in flashes, things his brain registered but he didn't.  
   
Cyril is sitting across from him with his own coffee, watching him silently. That's what he loves to do. He can only do it when they're both calm, trying to wake up. His brain isn't on fully yet and he can admire Camille's features fully. One sip of coffee as he's imagining stroking Camille's cheek, cupping his face, just touching him. But he stays away, enjoying the sole contact he has with his boyfriend at the moment: their knees bumping with one another under the small table.  
   
The birds are chirping in the nearby trees, people around them are talking, running, walking their dogs, doing all sorts of things that just watching them tires them out. So they keep their gaze on each other.  
   
"I think I came out the guys last night." Camille's voice nearly startles him.  
   
"Yeah?" Is all he finds himself capable to say.  
   
"Yeah." And Camille leaves it at that for the moment.  
   
They did get out of bed, they did get dressed and walked to that little café but they're not ready for anything else. The weekend is made to sleep, recover from the week days and not do anything else. They're both too busy every day to see each other or talk to each other. Those two days, they're for them and them only. And that is, when they can have a weekend.  
   
It's over lunch that they're awake enough they can have a normal talk. Not that you can call it lunch at 5 in the afternoon, but their 'morning' coffee was had at around three.  
   
"So, you came out, huh?" Cyril asks as he puts the pasta on the table and serves them both.  
   
"Mh" Camille nods as he shuts a drawer with his hip and licks his finger clean of the butter he just put in the pasta. He gets them both forks and sits at the table with a deep happy sigh. Food. He loves food.  
   
"You came out?" Cyril asks again as he sits across from him and it snaps Camille out of his food reverie.  
   
"Yeah. They knew you were the on the phone and when you said I love you, I said it back."  
   
"I didn't say I love you," Cyril frowns. "Not that I wouldn't have meant it but I didn't. You did say it tho." He adds as he takes a mouthful of spaghetti.  
   
"Well why would I have say it back if you didn't say it?" Camille wonders as he starts to eat as well. They're both silent for a few moment, time to chew that mouthful of pasta.  
   
"I said "I'm coming to get you" but you were so tired you must have heard "I love you"." Cyril says before engulfing more pasta. He loves pasta, he just loves it, and spaghetti, they're his weakness. He just loves them. And anyway, Camille saw him do worse than eating like a pig, so he doesn't even need to care –does he ever– about taking one mouthful after the other.  
   
Camille nods along, slurping a few spaghetti trying to escape him and his hunger.  
   
They finish their lunch and end up on the couch watching TV. Massaging the other's feet, and then cuddling, cushion fighting and laughing 'til their belly hurts, making love and falling asleep. Just a regular weekend.


End file.
